Wounded, Not Broken
by LxIsxJustice
Summary: "I was so angry, Sam, when I met you. Everything I had been told about myself and you was turned on its head. I was righteous, above, and powerful. You were an abomination, beneath me in every way possible, and weak to the seduction of the world and Lucifer's promises." Kisses punctuate his words. "I was wrong." Castiel/Sam. Sastiel. Written to "I Was Broken" by Marc Foster.


**I've been thinking lately that it's about time I start my foray into Supernatural fiction. My main OTP's for this are Destiel and Sastiel (because geez, have you SEEN Misha Collins? Beautiful son of a gun). This one is Sastiel because I've just been having so many Sam feels lately and I JUST WANT MY BABIES TO BE HAPPY! Thus, a benediction fic where Cas is worshipful and Sam tries to let go a bit. This was written to 'I Was Broken' by Marcus Foster and if you haven't heard this song, you are COMPLETELY missing out on a song that moves to cover the entirety of the Supernatural show. I'd highly recommend listening to this amazing song to get the full effect of emotions on this fic. Enjoy!**

His hands are like nothing he has ever or will ever experience again. Not in anyone else.

The same could be said for the rest of him, honestly. Cas just has this air, this aura and way of holding himself that can't be replicated.

_Can't be matched._

His hands though, along with his eyes, he has a special reverence for. These are the blue, blue, too-blue eyes that can pierce through the lies and facades he puts forth on a daily basis because he doesn't know what else to _do_. He says 'I'm fine' like he's handing out candy, he smiles like the sun shining is a reason to be happy, and then he breaks down in screaming or tears when there is no more falsity in his reservoirs to draw from.

These are the eyes that cut and strip his defenses from him like bloodied armor so that they can assess the wound and find the medicine needed to heal it. There's no method to it, as far as Sam can see, but it works well. In Cas's expressions, few as they are, he can see the things he always wanted to see in someone. _Anyone_. But now 'someone' has a name and a face, and _God_, he says that name like a prayer and kisses that face as often as he can, because it would take an angel to see past his shit to the mangled, tattered remains his soul must be in. But it would take love from that angel to see that rotting thing inside him called a soul and reach out with those hands to grip him and raise him from perdition anyways.

Castiel tell him frequently that he's wrong about his soul. He calls it many adjectives, but _beautiful_, _humbling_, and_ precious_ are the most common. Beautiful, he says, because it shines brighter than even Dean's. To Castiel's true eyes, Sam is sun flare and meteor showers with the power and delight it exudes. "I wish you could see it, Sam. You think it's blackened and tarnished, but there's nothing more untouched in this world than your soul," he whispers against the skin of his throat. The tongue that traces the line of his tears has led him here, and Sam tilts further back to give him more space to paint in soft kisses and sharp nips of ownership.

Humbling, because Cas says it puts the angels, including himself, to shame. "Do you understand how angry I was, Sam, when I first encountered you? Everything I had been told about myself and you was turned on its head. I was righteous, above, and powerful. You were an abomination, beneath me in every way possible, and weak to the seduction of the world and Lucifer's promises." He continues down, and Sam can't help but tangle their fingers together, bringing Castiel's hands up to kiss each fingertip with rapt attention. His breath is heavy with need, he wants these hands to play him like the maestro of life Cas can be. "But it struck me from the very first second that I had it wrong. _You _are the one with incomparable faith. _You_ are the one who is stronger, more capable, more in control of your destiny. _You_ are the one that is so far above us that it makes me wonder if that is why my Father handed you this miserable destiny. Only you could tolerate every blow dealt you and still manage to make angels quake with jealousy even as they desire to be closer to your vibrant nature." He pulls back from laving at Sam's chest and quivering stomach to peer at him with a look that says he's in awe. Sam pulls him in for a deep kiss, unable to see that look being directed at him for long. "I hated you for it, until I realized that it was the things I hated that made you so incredibly beautiful, in every way I can describe." The words are murmured against his questing lips, pouring like life-water into him. These hands that glide across his skin and grip his hips to drag the denim from his legs are sometimes marble smooth and sometimes roughened from when Cas has made forays into humanity, but always, always soft on his skin. Cas treats him like the third thing he calls him often—

"Precious," he mouths against the junction of his wrist. "Beyond measure, not only to the world. Sam…I want you to open yourself to this." He says it as his own hands work Sam open, the slick glide of fingers within him punctuating his words. Sam's sounds of pleasure only spur him on, brushing across his prostate to induce shivers and cries of 'more, _please_ Cas!' "Can you do that? Will you let me tell you what my heart feels?"

_Feel_: it's a word Sam thinks Castiel is as surprised to be able to say as he is to hear it with increasing frequency. He loves that word on Cas's lips. His consent is already given, in every way, and the angel knows this better than anyone. Still, he asks. He always considers Sam first; lets him choose who gives or receives that night, looks to him first when he has a question or finds something amusing, allows him to break down when he needs it, even though those times are also enough that Castiel would probably like to unleash his own worries and heartaches to him. He's asked as much before, but the angel will explain how Sam's release is his, in lovemaking and in emotion, and how he asks for nothing but to be close to Sam. Sam, in turn, does his damnedest to give everything he is to Cas.

"_Yes_," he replies. He moans in disappointment when he is left empty as Cas withdraws, only to return once more to give everything Sam has given back to him tenfold. Cas slowly enters him, draped over him and pressing open-mouthed kisses against his back. He knows it's difficult for Sam to see devotion and adoration on the angel's face when he believes he should see disgust, and he doesn't push it. He lets Sam come to terms in his own time, and contents himself with re-discovering the places along the back of Sam's neck and spine that make him sigh or moan or take in shallow breaths.

"Mm, my heart feels very full, Sam." He begins to pump in and out, shallow and agonizingly slow. Sam thinks he might go insane with the need to feel Cas filling him completely. "Near to bursting, even. I so rarely feel this way, because I fight it too often. I cling to my guilt and the voices of my brothers and sisters telling me lies I thought had disappeared from Heaven with Lucifer and his malice. But sometimes I tell those voices, as Dean often says, to 'go fuck themselves' and there's no greater pleasure than the times I am with you when I allow myself to feel as much of it as possible. Those are precious moments." His thrusts begin to deepen and at a quicker pace. He leaves his words to settle along the molecules of Sam's body and spirit, open as Sam promised they would be. He presses an 'I love you' to Sam's shoulder before he focuses on bringing his beloved to the edge of release and back twice, their bodies glistening and slipping against each other in an old, old dance. Castiel marvels at the human beneath him, and watches that warm soul writhe in rapture within the warm body that arches with pleasure until they both shudder and come with each other's name on their lips. The still night air is wrenched apart and blazes brilliantly with their chosen song, and when angel and human entangle themselves to sleep for a brief moment of respite in a warzone, there is not enough space for doubt or lies to creep in.

There is safety in numbers, and where two gather in His name, God's presence is near.

He blesses his child of Heaven and his sword of Man with a night of rest and the comfort of their shared warmth. He wonders if his wayward children in both Heaven and Hell will ever understand that to love another person is to see His face.

At least there are two who know this truth. He muses on starting again, with this faithful pair as a new beginning. He looks across space and time infinite in its reach but not beyond His grasp, and He smiles at the change the Winchesters and Castiel will allow.

This world is wounded, but not broken. He will give it time.

_Finis_

__**Read and Review! Hope you liked it! It has been a long time since I did anything present tense, so it felt strange, but good. That sounded dirty.**


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